


Food

by CatOfLello



Series: Witcher Writing Prompts [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 06:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatOfLello/pseuds/CatOfLello





	Food

Baldric approached the panting, dying wyvern cautiously, it was still dangerous and could be unpredictable when they were in their last moments. It shrieked pitifully, trying to dig its claws into the earth, desperately trying to get away from the approaching witcher. Baldric raised his sword, tip aimed carefully at the monster’s heart and plunged it deep. The wyvern lay completely still in seconds. Wiping the sweat from his brow the witcher removed his hunting knife and whistled for his horse then began the nasty work of removing the beast's head and dreamt of how he was going to spend the coin. Fine wine, freshly baked pastries and a feather bed hopefully warmed by a beautiful woman. Ah yes, the finer things, but truth be told he would settle for just two of those things with no particular preference. 

After he had strapped the head to his saddle he set off for Beauclair to collect his hard earned coin. The wyvern had been an old one, wise and strong. It had killed three knights so a call was put out for a witcher to dispatch the beast. Just so happened he was already in the city, taking part in... ahem… the best the city had to offer and found he was soon out of coin. Again. But such was life.

As Baldric approached the ducal guard captain’s post, passers-by covered their faces with handkerchiefs and stared at the gaping maw of the wyvern hanging from his saddle, some praised him others cursed. Grinning like a fool taking in all if it with a sick sense of enjoyment. He stopped his red roan in front of the guard's post and was met with a slightly astonished look from the guard standing watch. 

‘Will you report to your captain that the witcher, Baldric, has completed his task and does not wish to spoil his offices with the filth’ he motioned to the stinking trophy ‘you see here’

The guardsman nodded and quickly retreated inside. A moment later the ducal guard captain appeared. ‘You work quickly Baldric, I shall make sure the Duchess hears about your good deed Sir’ 

Baldric smiled again and nodded ‘You have my thanks’ he dismounted and removed the trophy from his saddle and threw it on the cobblestone. ‘And my pay as agreed?’ 

The captain handed him a heavy coin purse and Baldric’s mind began to race thinking of all the wonderful ways to spend it. ‘My thanks again, a pleasure as always’ be bowed slightly before setting off to find some hard earned diversion. 

_The pheasantry ought to do the trick,_ he thought to himself.  _or maybe…_ he looked in the direction of the brothel then felt the weight of the leather pouch again. _No, best not to tempt fate. I still need feed for Baron on the trip back_

He stopped by a bakery on the way to the pheasantry, allured by the scent of freshly baked cakes and cookies. The local folk would have seen a rare sight riding slowly down the streets of Beauclair, a witcher splattered with gore, greedily chewing on a cake with the smile of a naughty child plastered across his face. Baldric silently thanked his high metabolism for the ability to eat whatever he wanted and as much of it as he wanted without turning him into a great big man who would break out in a sweat every time he passed wind. Licking the sugary icing from his fingers he strolled inside of the pheasantry, his mouth watered at the thought of est est, poached fish in cream sauce, toffees… the list went on and on. 

Later that evening, he sat barely able to move in a chair on the veranda of his room with a glass of Est Est resting between his fingers, empty discarded plates and bowls lay on the table. Baldric reclined in his chair, kicked off his boots, and propped his feet up on the railing. He loved the tranquillity and beauty of Beauclair, it was like a fairy tale with the exception that it was real. Who said life couldn’t be good as a witcher? Life was what you made it, although it was a lot harder and dirtier in his line of work. Sleep took a stronghold of the witcher, even the nighttime rain didn’t wake him.


End file.
